Where There's A Will
by Mardy Lass
Summary: Dean's deal is at hand - but the course of soul collection never did run smooth. Rated T for language. Cross posted at SPNville dot net.
1. Chapter 1

**ONE**

Sam woke with a start, a half-remembered awful feeling in the pit of his stomach. It made him sit up quickly and look round the motel room.

Everything was normal, everything was quiet.

He spotted Dean, already dressed and ready for the day, perched on the end of his bed, ostensibly looking out the window.

Sam opened his mouth but then paused, instead watching. There was something disquieting about the way his brother didn't move. He simply stared at the window, his back to his younger brother.

A cold fear gripped Sam and he remembered why he should not have listened to his brother and simply gone to sleep last night.

_His_ last night.

He pulled back the blankets slowly and put his feet to the cold floorboards. He pushed himself out of bed and walked round to stand at the foot of his brother's bed.

He was relieved to see his brother was alive and watching something. Yet the knowledge that Sam was standing just four feet away did nothing to draw his gaze from the window. He watched it like it was the only thing that existed. His face was immobile, and suddenly Sam feared there was nothing inside the shell of a man.

"Dean. What?" he asked firmly. He tore his gaze from his brother's face, casting his eyes over him to realise he hadn't even been to bed. He looked over at the window himself, saw nothing important, and looked back at him.

Dean blinked. But he didn't look away from the window.

"Just watching the sunrise, Sammy," he said faintly. "My last one."

"Don't say that," he said hastily. "You don't know–"

"I heard them," he said quietly, and Sam stopped short.

"What?"

"The hounds. I heard them. They're not banging the door down yet. But I heard them. They're waiting," he breathed, as if to himself.

Sam swallowed.

"Waiting for midnight. Or perhaps later today. Who knows?" Dean asked himself, his eyes still on the view through the window.

"Look, Dean, we can still–"

"You tried, Sammy," he said with a weary smile, turning his head to look at his younger brother slowly. Sam met his eyes and wished he hadn't. "You really, _really_ tried. I know you did."

Sam had nothing to say.

"You know what scares me the most?" Dean managed, his eyes turning red. Sam shook his head, unable to speak. He felt his throat closing over. "That ah… tomorrow morning, when you wake up, I won't be here to get you coffee. And… and there's going to be no-one here to look out for you."

Sam blinked, but he felt water in his eyes. He refused to breathe and give in to the tears.

"And you need someone, Sam. You are such a dumbass without me," he smiled, trying to make it work. But it was weak, the bravado not quite strong enough. "I was sat here, just thinking. How many times have I had to dust you off from tripping over your own feet, or fix your toys, or lift you up cos you couldn't reach the cookie jar… or cut you loose from ropes, or… or… untie you from duct tape, or shoot some _thing_ in the head for trying to kill you?"

"Too many," Sam whispered.

"Not enough," Dean interrupted. "Who's going to do that tomorrow?" he pressed, but his voice gave just a little.

"This is the worst day of my life," Sam admitted. Dean looked at him for a long second.

"No. The worst day of your life was me turning up, telling you to help me find Dad," he said firmly. "If I could take it back, Sammy, if I could change it – I'd never have come for you. I never would have got you into this." He let his head fall, knowing an eye had spilled water. He felt it on his face, ridiculing him. "God, if I could just go back there. If I could just change what I did–"

"You'd be dead by now," Sam pointed out. "Who got you fixed when you electrocuted yourself? Who's stitched you up and doused you in antiseptic and anti-biotics every time something scratched you, or bit you, or mauled you?" he whispered.

Dean raised his head and they stared at each other.

"I'm sorry," Dean offered weakly. "I never should have come back to see you."

"But you did," Sam said firmly. "And I'm glad you did. There's only one good thing that's come out of all of this. And that one thing almost makes the rest of it alright."

"Nothing could make it alright, Sammy," he breathed, looking away to the window to avoid his younger brother's hopeful stare.

"These past coupla years… I got my brother back. You don't know… you don't know what that means, Dean," he managed, feeling water escape from an eye. "You don't know how hard it was to leave you and Dad. Dad was easy not to miss at first – he was the person I was trying to hate. He was the idea that I had to stand up to," he said with a strong voice. Then his eyebrows went up and his mouth twitched dangerously. "But you?" he sniffed.

Dean looked round at him.

"Don't," he whispered.

"But _you_," Sam continued, more clearly. "I _really_ missed you, man. I was starting a new life at college, and I'd see all these strange new things like people having lives and little things that made me laugh, and I thought… I thought every time that I'd turn around and you'd be there to share the joke with, cos you were the only one who always got my sense of humour. You were the one thing that was ever constant in my life – Dad was round, or he wasn't. But you were always there, Dean. Always. And then you just weren't. And the more time that passed, the more it felt like I could never call you and tell you. It got worse and worse, and I knew I'd never talk to you again. Cos you were angry with me for leaving Dad to it, you were angry with _me_, and I'd never seen you so–"

"Sam," he interrupted softly, and Sam gulped in a breath, clamping his mouth shut. "It doesn't matter. Not any more."

They looked at each other for a long moment.

"So," Dean said more loudly, wiping the water from his face quickly, "you want one last coffee? I ain't here to pay for it tomorrow," he sniffed recklessly, getting to his feet. "Take advantage while you can," he added, but his attempt at humour struck Sam in the chest. Dean wiped his face again, scrubbing at it as if to remove all evidence of the tears. He let his hands drop and looked at his younger brother.

"Sure," Sam whispered. "Hurry back."

Dean sniffed, then put a hand out on his shoulder, patting once.

"You get a shower. You stink," he smiled, patting again and walking past him.

Sam didn't turn, just listened to the sound of his brother's boots on the boards. He waited until the door had swung open. Panic seized him.

"Dean!" he said quickly, turning round swiftly.

His brother paused, half in and half out of the door.

"What?" he asked edgily.

Sam's mouth worked for a moment but nothing came out. He took a deep breath, then smiled brightly. "And doughnuts," he said bravely.

"Okie-dokie," Dean smiled, tipping his head slightly in acknowledgement. "Make yourself busy, little brother," he added, disappearing out of the door. He stood out in the cool morning, closing the door behind him firmly. He surveyed the parking lot, letting out a long, steady breath. "Because I may be some time," he managed to himself.

* * *

He put his hands in his pockets and began walking. At first he thought he was heading in the direction of the coffee shop two blocks down, but as he turned left at the intersection and kept going, he realised he had never had any intention of going there.

He walked down the road, watching his boots on the pavement, listening to the cars and traffic. His mind went blank, save the burning realisation that he hadn't helped his brother at all. It came to him with sudden amazing clarity and he stopped in the street, overwhelmed.

"So I kept him alive for another year. But if I'm not here to keep doing that…"

He turned and looked around. He had never felt more useless than at that moment.

He turned back in his original direction, walking on with more purpose this time. Suddenly he knew where he wanted to go.

* * *

Sam got out of the shower and by the time he'd shaved and dressed there was an SMS waiting for his perusal. He heard the slight beeping sound and crossed to his bed, picking up his phone and pressing the button.

'_Look after the car. Dad gave her me, and I'm giving her to you. You two are the only proof that I lived at all.'_

He read it again, and again. He realised in a moment of horrific transparency that his brother was not bringing him coffee this morning.

Or in fact, ever again.

* * *

Dean found himself out by an old back-road. He heard the rush of water and followed it to a narrow river. He stood by the bank, watching it sweep past him and under a rickety wooden bridge before disappearing somewhere on the other side. A lone car turned through the trees behind him and came closer, trundling over the bridge. He watched it leave the bridge and slide into the mist on the other side, caused by the cold river first thing in the morning.

He noticed a figure on the bridge and shivered into his leather jacket abruptly.

"Well, come on then," he sighed to himself, putting his hands deep in his jeans pockets and walking toward the bridge.

He walked on over it, and was surprised to find it was a boy. He looked to be about twelve years old, standing with his hands on the wooden railings, looking over into the river.

"Didn't expect this," Dean admitted. Silence. "Thought you'd be taller," he added with an attempt at levity. He stopped next to him, refusing to lean on the wooden side.

"Everyone says that," the boy said petulantly. Dean frowned at him.

"So… no dogs today?"

"I don't like dogs. That's why I'm here," he replied in a small voice.

"Riiiight. Come to do it yourself, have you?" Dean asked with a covering smile.

"Yeah," the boy sighed, still not looking at him.

Dean studied him, wondering just how it was all going to work. The more he looked at the boy's raven black hair and pale skin, the more he knew with utter uncertainty that the slight looking lad was about to turn on him and start spitting insults. Perhaps there'd be pain involved. That didn't worry him. Physical pain was nothing, in the end. Perhaps he'd try emotional torture.

_There's nothing he could say that could hurt me any more,_ Dean thought wearily.

The boy turned and looked at him suddenly, and he almost jumped. He was struck by his eyes.

Green. Clear, bright green.

"Are you going to go?" the boy asked.

"I thought that was up to you," Dean replied, making himself shrug casually to cover his raging fear. The boy blinked, then looked back at the river.

"So… you're saying I can do anything I want?"

"Hey, you're the one with the choices. I'm the one without any options left," he said facetiously. "So are we going to do this, or what? Cos just between you and me, I don't think I can face my brother one more time."

"Me neither," the boy whispered.

And he clutched at the railings, lifted himself up, and squirmed over the top. In the moment it took Dean to realise what he was doing and put his hands out to grab at him, the boy had already leapt from the wood.

Dean leaned over the side, reaching for him. But it was way, way too late. He watched helplessly as the young lad plummeted twenty feet into the ice cold water.

"Goddamn it! If this is some demon game," he hissed, pulling off his jacket quickly, "I am seriously gonna kick up when I get down there!"

He put his hands to the wood and threw himself over after the boy.


	2. Chapter 2

**TWO**

Sam wandered round in a circle, banging his hands together. He picked up his phone, pressing the green 'call' button to show the list of most recently dialled calls. Every one had been to Dean.

He swallowed as he realised that time would push Dean's name down the list, and then it would disappear. So would the need to book into a double room. So would the sound of Dean pretending he wasn't really singing in the shower. So would the smell of coffee before he'd opened his eyes in the morning. He'd never get slapped over the head for leaning on the paintwork of the Impala when it had been washed and was still wet. He'd have to _drive_ the Impala – all the time.

He let his hand drop slowly, then looked around the motel room.

"So this is what it is to be the last one standing," he said to himself.

He pressed the green 'call' button again, waited for Dean's name to come up, and called it.

* * *

The water closed over his head with terminal certainty. He sank in the icy water, his boots and lack of will to save himself dragging him down. He opened his eyes, feeling the awful slide of water through them, but reasoned it didn't matter anymore.

He saw something. A shape. Black, bulky, rippling.

The boy.

_What a way to piss 'em off one last time_, he thought to himself. He kicked himself into gear, struggling and stroking through the water towards him. He clutched at the black mass of t-shirt and clothing, scrabbling to get a hold.

He kicked upwards, and abruptly a memory floated into his head; _I've done this before. I saved Lucas then, and I'll save this boy now. Because this is my job. This is what I do. This is what I am._

His head broke the surface and he gasped in air, suddenly reminded how much he needed it. He turned the boy onto his back, grabbing his chin and hauling him to lie on him, keeping both their heads above the water as he tried to find the bank.

He spotted a green edge and turned his back to it, leaning back and sweeping at the water with his left arm, ignoring the deep cold in his limbs and the weight of the young boy on top of him.

He reached the shallows and pulled him off his chest, getting to his knees and then feet in the freezing tide. He hauled the boy over his shoulder carelessly and struggled his way out of the mud to the grassy edge beyond the bank.

As he let him down to the grass there was a female shriek and a chorus of chatter from behind him. He ignored them, kneeling over the boy and trying to find his pulse. It was weak but he didn't appear to be breathing.

He clasped his freezing hands together, still heaving in breath desperately, and laid them on the ribcage.

"Did you pull him out of the river?" came a frightened voice from behind him.

"What do you think, lady?" he growled, shaking his head abruptly to clear it of some water. "Call 911!" He pressed down smartly, counting the chest compressions.

"Oh my god!" came the voice again. He ignored her, bending over the boy and pulling his mouth open. He took a half breath and began mouth-to-mouth.

"Mary – Mary! Call 911! This man's just saved the boy's life!"

Dean ignored her. The boy was still not breathing. He faithfully kept up the chest compressions and mouth-to-mouth, going through it all mechanically, devoid of anger at the lack of response from the boy.

He heard chatter and a crowd forming behind him, but it was the furthest thing from his mind.

Suddenly he heard sirens.

"It's about time," he breathed tiredly, pressing still. A flash of green uniform appeared beside him and he looked at the girl in the paramedics suit.

"You can leave him now, Dean," she said with a grin. He paused in horror as she blinked, revealing large, black orbs in place of her eyes.

* * *

Dean's voicemail picked up and Sam swallowed. As he listened to the female recording telling him the owner was busy, he felt his throat start to constrict.

The beep came, much too soon.

"Hey, ah… Dean. It's me. Of course." He paused. "Look, I ah… I know this message is probably too late, but hey, that's what I do best, right? Coming in late for everything? Anyway, if you do ever get this, then… I was just calling to say… ah… Well, this is The Call. The one that I should have made that first week I was at Stanford. I wanted to call you, wanted to try and make peace at least with you, but… I thought you wouldn't pick up. And you didn't pick up now, so… there we are. You wanted to go back in time and not come to Stanford to get me; I want to go back in time and call you as soon as I got there. And I wanted to say… thanks, big brother. Thank you for _being_ my big brother. Cos without you here, I think–"

Another beep.

"Your message time has run out. If you would like to re-record your message, press one. If you would like–"

Sam closed the phone sadly, keeping his mouth clenched shut. It lasted for a whole minute. Then he let go and tears of rage and frustration started to fall.

* * *

"Get off him, bitch!" he growled, pushing her roughly. He put his hands back to the boy's chest, ready to push again.

"No, really, Dean," she said, catching at his arm and pulling him back harshly. "You can stop now. He's breathing. You've done it."

Dean didn't dare look at her. Instead he stared at the boy, leaning over and putting his ear close to his mouth. He heard and felt the breath and let himself relax.

He sat back as two more paramedics arrived, asking him to clear the way so they could get to the boy. He stood dumbly, backing away, watching them busy over the raggedly breathing lad.

"So how do you feel now?" she asked from beside him. Unexpectedly, she lifted a blanket and started to put it round his cold, wet arms slowly. He shrugged it off as if it stung, shifting her a suspicious look before he looked back at the boy. He was silent for a long moment.

"I thought I'd be… I thought I'd be happy at pissing you off by saving him. But I'm not," he replied tonelessly. "I'm just… numb."

"Oh honey, that's just the cold water," she smiled, and he looked down at her, close by his side again. "Don't worry, I know somewhere we can go where it's really warm. You'll never be cold again."

"Sometime soon? Cos really, if I have to listen to you bang on about it much longer you're gonna see my breakfast, you smug bitch," he snapped.

"Oh Dean. Don't start with your '_unholier than thou_' attitude," she said reprovingly, sticking her bottom lip out and putting a hand up to his wet chin warmly. "Although, you do become more attractive, the more upset you get."

He put a hand up and swiped hers off him abruptly.

"Easy, tiger! Look, don't you want to see what you've accomplished?" she grinned, putting her hands to his arm and turning him to see the boy.

He was breathing, his eyes open, muttering something to the paramedic attaching tubes to him smartly and efficiently. The man was calming him, saying something soothing.

"You think you've done a great thing here, Hero. And you have. Now he's going to live a long time – with my help."

"What do you mean?" he dared.

"He threw himself off the bridge because he killed his older brother's dog. It was an accident, of course. But he blames himself." She sighed. "I don't know. When you're eleven these things do get blown out of proportion." She watched Dean take this in slowly. "But not to worry, eh. You think that brothers can get over anything, and you're right, they will. In about… ooh… ten years' time, they'll be thick as thieves – exactly that, in fact. I plan on helping them become two of the state's most wanted," she smiled. "And I have you to thank for it."

He shoved her away from him quickly, staring at her balefully. She giggled.

"Oh come now. I have to have _some_ fun. It's my job, I know but… who says it can't be fun?"

A sudden streak of anger, or resentment, flew through Dean and he turned to look at her.

"So you did that on purpose," he accused her. "You made him come here and somehow made me want to do the same as he did? Only you made him do it first?"

"Oh Dean, Dean, Dean," she sighed in anguish, shaking her head and pouting sadly. "I didn't make anyone do anything today. At least, not in the way you mean. I can't physically coerce anyone into doing anything – well, I _could_, but that's not the demon way," she smiled impishly. "However, I am responsible for helping him find it easier to make bad choices, shall we say. That ultimately came to this sorry scene we have here."

Dean looked around, watching people fuss around them, around the paramedics, around the coughing, breathing boy on the grass.

"So are we off then?" she asked brightly.

"Now?" he asked faintly.

He realised in that second that, even though he'd been waiting for this, fearing it, counting down to it, wishing and hoping it would never come but somehow expecting it… even after all that… he wasn't ready.

_And I still don't deserve to go._

"Exit light," she said from behind him, walking closer. "Enter night." She took her hand from her uniform pocket, reaching out for his shoulder. "Take my hand – we're off to Never-Never-Land."

* * *

Sam sat on the bed, wiped his face, and thought for a long second. Then he leaned over and snatched up the remote, flicking on the TV and looking for the news channel.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, skipping through the four news channels constantly, searching, searching, searching.

Suddenly he caught a glimpse of something. Something familiar. He snapped back one channel and found live footage from the bank of a river, being taken by some kind of local news helicopter. And very clearly, he saw Dean, standing a little back from the commotion going on. Sam's eyes flicked to the ticker-tape news feed below.

'_Passer-by saves boy from river death: both lucky to be alive_.'

He stood quickly, racing to the table under the window and snatching up the car keys. He looked back at the television, making mental notes. He snapped off the set and pulled out his phone as he barrelled out of the motel room and toward the Impala in the parking lot.

"Hey, ah… I'm calling from _Weekly World News_ – about the boy on the river bank? Looks interesting, can I get some pictures?" he asked quickly, unlocking the car and wanging open the squeaky door. "Great – I'll be about ten minutes," he said, snapping the phone shut and ramming the old girl into gear.

He spun her round recklessly in the gravel, fish-tailing out of the exit and onto the main road.


	3. Chapter 3

**THREE**

Sam burst through the doors to the emergency ward, fairly running down the corridor and skidding to a halt at the reception desk.

He gulped in air as the nurse looked up.

"Can I help you?"

"My – brother – just brought in," he managed against his panting for breath.

"Name?" she asked calmly, already looking down at her desk.

_Damn! What alias would he have had in his wallet this time? What did he use yesterday at the motel— _

He snapped his fingers. "Malcolm Young?" he blurted.

"Ok, hang on a moment," she said, casting him a dour look before tapping away at something beneath her. She looked up. "Get to emergency room four right away," she said quickly, surprised. "That way!"

He followed her hand pointing to his left. He dashed off as fast as his legs would carry him, down the corridor and round the corner, looking up left and right to find a sign pointing to the emergency rooms.

He exploded through the door and came to a stop, finding small groups of people loitering. They all jumped and stared at him as he swallowed and tried to control his breathing.

He looked away deliberately from the families pacing and waiting, and instead turned to look at the doors. He found number four and hurried over, looking through the window.

What he saw made his blood run cold.

* * *

"So, Dean," the woman said warmly, holding onto his arm firmly with both of hers, as if they were out for a stroll on a Sunday afternoon. "You do realise that I could be very helpful to you down there."

"I don't think so," he ground out, watching the doors at the end of the corridor getting closer and closer. _Something tells me there ain't a hospital beyond them doors._

"Wait till you get there. You're going to need a friend, someone to look out for you. Don't forget, you'll be a noob, you'll be picked on by everyone who–"

"Look, lady," he said testily, stopping and wrenching his arm free from hers. She stopped, amused, turning to look at him. "I know where I'm going. And I know _why_ I'm going. And I know why you think you're going to try and get on my good side. But really, the last thing I need right now is some jumped-up Reaper trying to make me her bitch. So do me a favour, and just get us on the highway," he snarled.

She giggled. "Oh this is going to be so much fun," she tinkled. "While you're trapped down there, watching everything I'll be doing, I'll be visiting precious little Sammy, making his life a—"

Dean growled something unintelligible. It didn't matter that she missed it – his right hand closed around her throat so fast she didn't even see it.

"I had a deal," he breathed, tightening his grip. He advanced on her, forcing her back into the wall. She gulped and put a hand up, trying to wheedle her fingers under his to relieve the pressure. With no success.

"I—"

"My deal was for Sam to be left alone – and alive. And nothing's changing that," he hissed, squeezing tighter.

She gulped again, trying to draw in a ragged breath. His eyes narrowed, waiting for the inevitable shock of power from the black-eyed harpy, the physical assault. There was nothing; she simply stared at him in surprise.

"What's the matter, hellcat got your tongue?" he demanded harshly.

She gulped and her hands scrabbled at his desperately. He squeezed harder and she squeaked in fear. Her eyes were still black marbles, but now the face around them was pleading silently for mercy. He let his head tilt as he considered this.

He looked at his hand, round her throat. He followed his arm back to his body, looking himself over slowly. He looked back at her.

"What?" he asked cautiously. "What is it that's stopping you?"

She peered at his tiny slits of green, staring at her with hatred and disgust. He let his grip loosen slightly and she dragged in breath.

"As if – I'd tell – you," she heaved.

His mouth curved down steadily and slowly his teeth were bared in resentment, or perhaps repulsion. It sent a shiver down her spine.

"I think I'll press my luck," he growled, pushing his face into hers. "I think I'll just keep squeezing till those black eyes of yours pop right out of your head. Shall we see how far they'll fly?"

"You can't do this!" she spluttered.

"Care to test that theory? Cos I'm feeling pretty flexible right now – I mean, being dead an' all," he sneered.

She clawed at his hand desperately, feeling the pressure on her throat increase.

"They were right – right about you," she rasped, and he dragged his vengeful feelings back a notch. He let his hand release slightly.

"Who?"

She smiled and he shook her once. She gasped in breath.

"Everyone. We talk, down there," she managed. She felt his fingers open another crack. She gratefully sucked in a breath.

"And?"

"We paid attention to you when you were alive, Dean. Now Sam – yeah, he might have let us walk him away, all guilty and pouty. But you? You always look for the catch, don't you?"

She paused, watching the way his anger was replaced so quickly with searing, painfully acute attention when his brother's name came up.

"Oh we've watched you, Dean. You dangle boys in front of Strigas. You shoot innocent people in the head cos they're possessed by some demon. You go through with exorcisms even though you know the poor innocent girl inside will die horribly. Looks like you're going to fit in just fine down there."

"I have a question for you," he said suddenly, his eyes hopping from one of hers to the other in agitation.

"Really? What?" she managed, still pulling at his hand half-heartedly.

"You've been watching us, right? So you know all about us exorcising the seven sins?"

"Oh… _yeah_," she said, grinning suddenly. "I wondered how long it would take you to work that one out."

"So tell me why I wasn't affected by Little Miss Lust," he said abruptly.

"Why Dean – you don't know?" she smiled. He simply crooked an eyebrow at her and her smile faded slightly. "Some people just never bother to ask about what they take for granted. Take your family, for example," she smiled. "Ever wonder what really happened to dear old Mom? Ever wonder why she was picked? I wonder what happened to the side of her that was passed on to her sons… Let's see, Sam has his dad's hair, his height, his insufferable stubbornness… While you got… Well, let's just say that some people never find their true calling – until they're faced with the Bad Fire. Oh, and having you baby-sit one of our would-be leaders has had some wonderful side-effects."

He studied her for a long moment. Then his grim frown turned slowly into a grin. Suddenly the look in his dark green eyes chilled her all over.

"So let's see if I can't make them eyes fly clean across this hallway, huh?" he breathed dangerously. "Want to try living for eternity with no eyeballs?"

"Wait!" she cried, suddenly scared, "I can help you!" she pleaded.

"How?" he demanded. "How do I get out of this?"

"You don't," she spluttered. He squeezed angrily. "I can't change your deal!" she squeaked, short of air again. "I can't!"

"Then I'm sorry sweetheart, but you're no use to me," he growled.

She felt the pressure suddenly stifle her breathing. She tried to summon all her out-worldly strength to pull him off, but something was more powerful that her.

Dean Winchester.

_So it's my job to make him cross the line, is it? To make him do things he never thought he would?_ she gasped to herself. _Screw this. We might need him to make the leap, but not at my own expense._

She felt herself blacking out, knowing he was literally crushing the un-life from her. She raised her hand quickly.

She snapped her fingers. And the distant barking started.

* * *

Sam leaned against the window, watching helplessly. He tried to hear what they were saying.

The three doctors inside stood back slowly from the operation table, pulling down masks and wiping their faces.

"Call it," one said starkly.

A nurse looked behind her, then round at them all.

"Thursday 31st April, fourteen twenty hours."

"Right. Get him taken downstairs," he said sadly. "My God, but that's just not fair," he added to another doctor, who nodded slowly.

"Pulled the boy right out of the water," he shrugged. "It was Jonah's boy, too. Saved his life, resuscitated him, only to get himself a heart attack."

"Must have been the shock of the cold water. Delayed effects," he mused, looking over at the rapidly cooling body of Dean Winchester on the table. "Not even thirty years old. What a waste," he sighed sadly, then motioned to the others. "Come on. He must have someone waiting for him. Time to break the bad news."

They pushed the door open, looking round the room.

"Family of Mr Malcolm Young?" the doctor called respectfully.

"Yeah," came a small voice, and he looked over to see a tall, lanky-haired young man sat on the floor, his back against the wall. His knees were bent up against his chest, his arms round them tightly. He was staring at the floor, his face white and his jaw clenched.

The doctor walked over slowly, crouching down and clasping his hands together.

"Son, I'm sorry to have to tell you this," he began quietly.

* * *

"Dean! While the best – the best hounds in the business come find us – are you—" she paused to will some breath back past his vice-like grip, "are you sure you don't need my – my help?" she gasped.

Dean let her go abruptly, stepping back away from her and watching her massage her throat tenderly. He took another step back.

"Yeah I'm sure," he said, listening intently.

"Oh dear me – you know, I've seen a lot of people like you come this way," she coughed, dragging in air. "And they all refuse help. Until the first little fracas with the rest of the jailbirds, and then suddenly they like me again."

"Well trust me, the only time I'm going to be coming to you is with a knife," he snapped. "And if I'm the impervious hero you think I am, I think I'll take my chances with your flea-bags."

"I never said you were the hero," she laughed. She opened her mouth to say more.

But then she paused, listening, it seemed. Dean stiffened in alarm. Her eyes widened, then her smug smile fell quickly. It was replaced with a mask of anger, of complete and utter fury.

Dean braced himself for a fight.

"No!" she screamed suddenly. "No! How can you do this to me! He's got a deal!" She paused and Dean thought he felt something slide down his spine in a cold, tingling way. "I don't give a shit who did it!" she shouted angrily at the ceiling. "No! You can't do this! _No_!"

He stepped back once more, but then realised his legs were a little unsteady. _So this is how it ends_, he thought grimly.

"Do you realise who owns his contract? Do you know what you're doing?" she heaved in rage.

Dean felt a wave of heat pass over him. His knees buckled and he staggered to stay upright. But it did no good. His eyes ceased to work and he felt himself falling.

He cracked into the cold floor tiles, coughing and gagging, desperate to breathe. He heard beeping and crashing and tinkling, screams and whimpers. He put his hands under him, finding the floor deathly cold and smelling strangely of chemicals he half recognised from perhaps Bobby's shelf of weird and wonderful collections.

"Doctor! Doctor!" came a female voice. He tensed, fearing she'd strike him while he was down. He tried to turn over, tried to at least get to his hands and knees, but he was suddenly so weak.

Someone grabbed him and many hands appeared to lift him from the floor effortlessly. He heard talking and bright lights were shone into his eyes. He was still coughing and racking as someone put a hand under his head and poured something down his throat.

His first instinct was to spit it out. He did, feeling it splash on the skin of his chest. The shock of the feeling seemed to help his vision clear a little. He found two heads peering down at him from a bright white light.

"Which one – is this?" he gasped. "Heaven or Hell?"

"Maine," a voice said. "You're in the hospital – do you remember jumping in a river to save a boy?"

"Ah… yeah," he gasped, confused. His eyes became more accustomed and he blinked repeatedly, trying to squint and see around him.

"Just relax, we're looking after you," said the woman's voice.

He realised she was still here. He began to struggle, trying to free his arms from the human hands trapping him to a cold, hard bed.

"Sam!" he shouted angrily. "Sammy! It's her! Weapon or run!" he bawled desperately. His eyes came into focus properly as he felt someone pushing him down forcefully, talking at him. "Sam! Sam! _Saaauuum_!"

One pair of hands let go of him suddenly as he heard a sound he had never missed so much as right then.

"Dean!"

"Mr Young, you can't be in here," said the nurse's voice.

"Dean!"

"Sam – it's her! Run!"

"_Christo_!" Sam shouted as loud as he could.

Everyone in the room froze, confused. Dean stared at the woman, now holding onto Sam's arm in a bid to stop him getting any further into the room.

She simply blinked.

She blinked confused, hazel eyes. Sam stared at her, then looked over at his older brother.

The doctor and the three orderlies trying to hold Dean down to the table shook themselves and pushed at him again.

Sam fairly brushed the small nurse out of the way. He reached the bed and elbowed the doctor and an orderly out of the way with an impressive shove. He grabbed his brother's shoulder in a firm grip, squeezing to make sure he was real.

He needn't have bothered. Whether it was from shock, or relief, or plain weariness, Dean's hand had grasped at Sam's wrist.

Suddenly, in Sam's eyes, Dean was again the ten year old trying to yank his smaller brother into the bedroom to sleep before he was ready. And the twelve year old, pulling him from the door when John was leaving them alone for the evening again. And the nineteen year old, keeping him upright after sharing John's stash of Miller and trying to keep it a secret. And the twenty-seven year old, stopping him falling from a window after shooting some creature in the face.

_It's instinct,_ Sam realised in the blink of Dean's eye. _He just does it. And he'll never stop doing it. He can't._

He felt the pull on his wrist and let himself be drawn over. Something made him pull his arm free of his brother's grip.

_Shame. And apology. The one time he needed me, and I wasn't there,_ he swallowed, his face red. He couldn't look at the man he'd failed.

"You ok, Sammy?" he heard. He lifted his head steadily and looked at Dean.

Dean Winchester. His jeans damp and muddy, his boots missing. His grimy t-shirt cut straight up the middle to aid the doctors' efforts in reviving him. His amulet, rising and falling on his damp chest faster than it should have done. His dark eyes, staring at Sam, trying to figure out what he was thinking, what he was feeling. And what he could do about it.

Again he was the bigger brother he had always looked up to; the one who had always picked him up and dusted him down after he'd fallen and cut his knee, or ridiculed him for dropping his favourite toy down the garbage chute but then secretly retrieved it anyway, or comforted him when he had screamed in the darkness at night terrors.

Sam gratefully wrapped his arms round him and squeezed as tightly as he could. Dean was pulled off the bed to stand and grabbed onto his smaller brother to steady himself, unprepared.

And yet relieved beyond measure that Sam was real.

The doctors paused, exchanging a look before turning to the nurse. As they talked with her and reconnected power to the machines they had righted next to the bed, she watched the two brothers.

They just stood, unmoving, for a long, long moment. Finally the shorter one let go slowly, sliding his hands down the taller man's arms to push him away slowly. Then he put his hands up to hold the taller man's head still, peering at him intently.

"You alright, Sammy? Huh? Really?"

Sam just laughed at the absurdity, sniffing and moving back. Dean let go of him, taking a deep breath and pushing himself away.

"I, ah… I was surprised," Sam said slowly, not looking at his brother as he wiped his face dry.

"Not half as much as me, man, I was convinced I wasn't coming back this time," Dean muttered, wiping his face.

"Mr Young – Angus – if you could wait outside, please," the nurse said top Sam gently. Dean's hands paused over his face and he stared at her.

Sam noticed. "Well thank _Christo_ you people are so good at your jobs," he said cheerfully, watching the room. Everyone simply stared at him. Sam looked at Dean, shrugged just slightly, and let himself be bundled out by the nurse.

The doctor advanced on him slowly, shaking his head.

"Well, I don't know what to say, Mr Young – a few minutes ago you were clinically dead."

"Yeah well," Dean managed, watching the doctor check readings from the machines dotted about the room. "It's been one of those days."

"Doctor!" a nurse called suddenly from the room. "We need help – it's Jonah's boy!"

"What is it?" he asked, checking over Dean's machines even as he pushed the button for help next to his bed.

"He's gone into cardiac arrest – we didn't see it coming," she said urgently.

Dean's eyes narrowed as she swept out of the room. The doctor turned to go but Dean reached out and snatched his arm back to him.

"Is that the boy I pulled from the river?" he asked quickly.

"Mr Young, please—"

"Is. That. The. Boy?" he breathed. The doctor paused and stared at him.

"Yes," he snapped. "Now please, Mr Young—"

"Sorry," he said unexpectedly, releasing his arm. The man turned and dashed from the room, just as a short, wide lady walked in, pulling her stethoscope from her neck slowly.

"Now then Mr Young," she said in a big cheerful voice, "I'll be making sure nothing happens to you while we work out how you came back from the dead. Any questions?" she beamed.

"Like you wouldn't believe," he said shakily. "But you ain't the person I need to ask."


	4. Chapter 4

**FOUR**

Sam opened the motel room door and waited for Dean to follow him. He did, not looking at him as he walked in and put his coffee cup down on the table between the beds.

Sam swung the door closed, not moving.

"So… that's it, then," he said gingerly.

"Seems that way," Dean admitted, still not looking at him.

Sam couldn't help the rising tide of euphoria that spread over his face in a huge grin.

"That's it! It's over! You're free!" he cried, trying to keep a lid on his excitement.

"Yeah, I guess," Dean shrugged diffidently. Sam stared at him.

"Look… I know you've been in the hospital all night, I know you've had time to think about this, but… Come on, man! You're free!" he shouted excitedly. "No Hell, no deals, no demons – they have _nothing_ on us now, dude! Nothing!" he called. "Do you know what this means?"

"No. Why don't you explain it to me," Dean managed quietly, his back still to him.

"It means they have no bargaining pieces any more! They can't use you on me, you no longer have me as a burden – we're free! So now all we gotta do is get back to rounding up as many demons as we can and—"

"Sam… It's great, really," he said slowly, turning around. But still he didn't look at him. Sam noticed his face remained stiff, watching the wall beyond his brother, round about knee-height.

"Then what's wrong with you? I thought you'd be singing, demanding drinks, getting ready for–"

"You haven't asked me why," he offered.

Sam paused, swallowing the sudden fear.

_But I've thought about it. All night. And all I could think was that they've granted you one more week, or one more day. That's all, just to twist the knife a little more. They make like this is the end, make you go through all that crap, then pull out and get malicious fun out of knowing that they're gonna do this again in a week. Oh, I've wanted to know why for twenty-four hours. I just wasn't brave enough to ask._

"Well?" he asked carefully.

Dean sighed in a way that suggested shit was about to hit Sam's fan.

"There _is_ no way out of the deal, Sam," he said slowly, shrugging off his leather jacket and dropping it to the bed nearest the window.

"But—"

"Nothing _I_ or you could have done. But… they forgot to factor in other people, I guess."

"What?" Sam whispered.

"The boy? The boy I saw throw himself in the river?" he prompted.

Sam walked backwards slowly as if struck, finding the bed in the back of his knees and sitting heavily.

"What about him?" He paused. "What were you doing on the bridge?"

"You want the truth?" Dean managed, turning and sitting on his bed, watching his younger brother.

"Always."

"I went out for coffee but… then I kinda knew there was no point. So I… I ended up at this bridge. I was just gonna watch the water for a bit. I saw this kid, I thought he was a demon come to get me," he shrugged.

"And you _spoke_ to him?" Sam marvelled.

"Hey, what did I have to lose?" Dean pointed out weakly. Sam closed his mouth. "So I still thought he was the collection man – but then he suddenly ups and throws himself over. What was I supposed to do? I jumped in after him."

"You saved him, got him on the bank. I saw a little clip on the news," Sam interrupted. "And then?"

"And then the paramedics turned up. And the first ambulance chick looked at me with her big, black eyes and I knew I was screwed," he said heavily.

"It was her?"

"It was her. The next thing I remember, I'm falling off a hospital bed and there's doctors and nurses and you. For some crazy reason I thought that nurse was her – I have no idea why," he shrugged.

"You have _got_ to start carrying a tape recorder for when you die," Sam smiled.

"Yeah," Dean snorted, amused at least.

"And then?" Sam pressed.

Dean fell backwards to lie on the bed, rubbing his eyes and sighing. "They got some doctor chick to come and watch me, to make sure I didn't die again, while they rushed off to try and revive the kid I saved. He died. Just… died. Heart attack."

"Oh," Sam said in a small voice. "So you think–"

"I _know_ he somehow traded himself for me. Or at least, asked for something, got it, and something happened that included me. So now I'm off the hook, and he's taken my place."

"You don't know that—"

"Then explain to me how I'm even here, Sammy," he said wearily.

Sam blinked. He had expected anger. He had expected indignation and shouting, accusations and rage against the dying of the light. But instead, Dean was simply getting comfortable on his back on a cheap motel bed, staring at the ceiling, with an apparent lack of anything resembling motivation.

"I will, if you like," said a head, poking through the doorway.

Dean sat up quickly as Sam got to his feet.

"Ruby," he said stiffly, eyeing her warily.

"Hey Sam," she said brightly, walking in and closing the door. She leaned back on the door behind her. "Hey Short Bus," she winked at Dean.

"What now?" he sighed.

"Oh come on – I'm here to say 'you're my hero'," she smiled. "I saw you with that boy. My, my, my, Dean." She pushed herself off the door and walked over to the bathroom, opening the door and looking in. "You thought he could have been a demon, and you _still_ threw yourself in the miserable, cold, slimy river to drag him out. You must have a screw loose."

"Couldn't take the chance he wasn't," he pointed out. "What's it to you?"

"What's it _to_ me?" she gasped, turning to look at him. "What's it to _me_? Oh my god – if I had one – you should be kissing my ass! I saved you!" she cried with a big grin.

"What did you do?" Sam asked quietly. She looked at him.

"Well… I knew the poor kid was going to top himself. Could see it a mile off. So… I just persuaded him that he really ought to do it near Dean. Well, when I say persuaded, I mean… just kinda put an idea of bridges in his head. And one bridge, in particular."

"Why would you do that?" Sam whispered.

"Cos I knew what he was going to wish for. And man, it fit you down to the ground," she beamed at Dean.

He just stared at her. Sam looked from her to his brother, then back again.

"Explain," he said quietly.

"The poor kid was upset with himself, there was some accident with a dog, I don't know. Anyway, when he found out about a few other things about his big brother, he kinda thought life wasn't worth living. So off he trotted like a good little Hell-share buyer, and chucked himself over. Who would have thought that as he was sinking, knowing he was dying, he decided he'd sell his soul if only Big Brother would come along and save him. He just wanted one moment in time where a big brother was _there_ for him. Too bad he failed to specify _which_ big brother. Must have been those cold, icy waters," she added with a grin, shivering melodramatically.

"Must have," Dean muttered to himself.

"And there we are – one Dean saved, one boy got what he wanted, everyone's happy," she shrugged, smiling at them both.

"Happy?" Sam demanded, outraged. "That boy's in Hell!"

"Yeah. But look at this way, he had been for a few years anyway. At least, in his head," she said. Her smile faded. "Really, you do not want to know about his big brother. Why do you think he offered up his soul for just _one – good – moment_ with him?" she reasoned darkly.

"And we haven't been tortured by this?" Sam demanded.

"Oh please," she snorted, putting her hands out in rejection. "I've seen inside both your heads. Honestly Sam, tone down the optimism, will you? That eternal sunshine you got going on when you're not emo-ing over being Psychic Boy must get a little much at times, even for you," she smiled. Sam's jaw stuck out dangerously and she waved a dismissive hand at him. "Although your constant concern for your big bro, and your idea about flipping over to the Dark Side to get his contract and then come back? That was pretty inspiring," she winked.

Dean turned and stared at his sibling. Sam noticed and looked back at him, shrugging innocently.

"It was just an idea," he said defensively.

"And you," Ruby said, pointing at Dean. "You filthy, filthy boy," she winked. "Why, if I weren't a demon and you a demon hunter, and we didn't hate each other, we'd seriously have to try and do half of those things you think about before you fall asleep at night," she teased, but there was a level of malice in there that neither brother took to.

"Whatever," Dean sighed, apparently unable to raise any enthusiasm.

"But you can forget the bit about Sammy being alone," she said, suddenly serious. "He was never going to be alone. Even after you'd been cast into the Pit, and although he might have been physically by himself – he'd always have you. Every time he had to drive the car, or go through the trunk, or call Bobby, or kill _any_thing, he'd be thinking about you, at least in some small way. Hell, he was starting to try to turn into you, in case you hadn't noticed."

Dean looked at his hands for a long moment, then back at her. He could feel Sam's gaze on him, but ignored him admirably.

"Why?" Dean asked softly. "Why'd you do all this to help me?"

"Cos believe it or not, this ain't all about you," Ruby said clearly. "I need Sam, that much is true. Why do you think I've spent all this time looking out for him?" She paused, a huff escaping her as she folded her arms slowly. "But… Sam needs you. There's no other way. So it was ditch the both of you or help _you_ out. Not that I think you deserve it – you made that deal fair and square," she added, fixing him with a look.

"You really know how to make a guy feel special, you know that?" he replied with just enough sarcasm to cover the relief he was feeling.

"Oh yeah," she snorted. "So just remember, this was just for my own benefit – and ultimately, to keep you to fight another day. Secret weapons are always good," she said, as if to herself.

"But surely everyone 'down there' knows he's not dead," Sam said slowly, still turning it over in his head.

Ruby looked at him. "What?" she asked innocently. Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. "Well… yeah, obviously," she managed quickly.

_Dean's the weapon – but what's so secret about him?_ Sam thought suddenly.

Dean appeared to have worked through whatever it was that had struck him dumb for the last few moments. "So what happens now?" he dared.

"Nothing. At least, not to you two. Take the week off, get wasted, lay all those girls you hadn't crossed off your list yet, do whatever. Then perhaps I'll be back next week for some demon-slaying," she smiled, crossing to the door.

"That's it?" Sam asked, lost.

"That's it. Why, what did you want?" she called over her shoulder, opening the door.

"Well, I don't know…" He floundered, looking at Dean.

"Don't look at me, man. This is about the most relieved I've ever been in my life."

"And good for you," Ruby said, turning in a circle. She winked at Dean, smiled at Sam, then pulled the door closed. It was nearly shut before she stopped suddenly. "Oh, Sam, sorry, I forgot," she said quickly.

"What?"

"Did you check on your mom for me?"

Sam's mouth worked in silence for a second.

"Mom?" Dean asked suspiciously, something ringing a very, very small bell in his head. He looked at his brother. "What about her?"

"Ah… I didn't have – I mean, I was thinking about Dean and – I didn't really—"

"Aw, touching," she cooed. "Well now you have time, don't you?"

And she disappeared, closing the door firmly behind her.

Sam found Dean staring at him.

"What's all this now?" he asked wearily.

"Nothing, she's just trying to screw with us," he said defensively. Dean eyed him, then fell back on the bed slowly. He blew out a long sigh. Sam sat again slowly, wiping his face over.

"So… whose turn is it to get coffee?" Dean rumbled from the bed.

"Bastard," Sam accused.

"Oh. Yours then?" Dean smiled to himself. "Off you go, Sammy Boy. And I want extra chocolate sprinkles on top of mine."

"If you want," Sam grudgingly allowed, about to get up. But Dean sat up quickly. Sam waited.

"You know… I always wondered," Dean ventured.

"What?"

"Well… You never once gave up, did you?" he asked quietly. "I mean… all the time, I was convinced there was nothing that would save me. Nothing. But you really thought… You actually _believed_ something could be done?"

"Yeah," Sam shrugged innocently. "I mean, if I didn't believe in us, then what's the point in Life?"

Dean stared at him, then snorted in amusement, shaking his head.

"You are something else, Sammy."

"Damn straight," he grinned, making his brother chuckle suddenly. "You know what? I was just getting my Dean act down pretty well," he smiled ruefully.

"Boy am I glad you won't have to do that," Dean sighed.

"Hey! I was doing a pretty good you, actually."

"Right. Do you remember when you were like… seven? And you thought being me was the coolest thing in the world?" Dean suddenly accused.

Sam blinked. "Er… no…"

"Yeah. You do," Dean pressed, pointing at him suddenly. "And you went out and these huge boys found you again, the third time that week? So you thought cos you were pretending to be me, you could kick their asses?"

"Er… maybe…" Sam admitted, realising he might be turning a little red at the sudden memory.

Dean smiled slightly, but it appeared to be at his own memory of the occasion, not Sam's current embarrassment.

"And you got your ass well and truly knocked into a sling. Right?" he added.

"Er… again, _may_be…"

"You see where it gets you? You ain't supposed to be me, Sam, you're supposed to be the guiding one, the moral compass."

"Oh really?" Sam snorted, grinning at the idea. "So what are you then?"

"The blunt instrument," Dean admitted, getting up off the bed and going to walk away.

"Yeah, well, I'm not seven any more, Dean," he put in quickly, twisting to watch him.

"You still got the same hair though," his brother grinned, leaning over and clapping a heavy hand to his shoulder as he walked past him to the bathroom.

Sam let it go. He had a feeling he'd be letting a lot of things go in the coming days.

The coming days. Days without a deal, without fear for his brother, without creeping guilt. Without worry and suspicion.

Unbidden, an image of his mother popped into his head. And he realised the truth; worry and suspicion hadn't been erased. They had just shifted focus.

**THE END**


End file.
